This Is Gospel
by actualmermaid
Summary: "So let me get this straight: I'm in an 'alternate dimension'." "Yup." "There's MAGIC-" "Alchemy." "Right, whatever. And these guys can clap their hands and make stuff." "Pretty much." "...And you expect me to believe you." Excitement was fun. Crimes and puzzles were fun. But this was just plain weird. And Odile didn't want any part in it, no matter HOW cool the magic was.
1. The Gellbea Murders

**chapter one**

_**'They say that genius is an infinite capacity for taking pains,' he remarked with a smile. 'It's a very bad definition, but it does apply to detective work.' ~ A Study in Scarlet**_

* * *

Odile was waiting for a letter, and that made history class nearly unbearable.

It didn't help that history was her absolute worst subject. Not that she could be blamed. After all, it was filled with useless knowledge and boring facts about old white men that killed other old white men. Besides, what use was it, learning about the past? No matter how many wars you memorized, you wouldn't be able to use that knowledge to aid your future. And so, in Odile's humble opinion, it was useless, and she would take her C- with her head held high.

Something hit her on the back of her head, and she frowned, reaching into the hood of her sweatshirt to pull out a small crumpled piece of paper. She craned her neck and saw Madelyn Simmons shaking her head wildly. _"For Jason," _she mouthed, pointing anxiously to the shaggy-haired kid nearly asleep right next to Odile.

Odile gave him a once-over, wrinkling her nose. Asleep, with a bit of gravy on his chin (so he liked the school's Mexican fries. Gross.), and ... was that snot? Ah, charming. She raised an eyebrow at Madelyn, but placed the piece of paper on his desk and flicked him on the forehead. Madelyn and her friends gasped dramatically, as if she had committed a felony. Jason woke with a start, blinking wildly. He noticed the paper, unfolded it, and glanced over the words. Madelyn squeaked. The teacher barely looked up from her erotica novel.

Jason shrugged and fell asleep again.

Odile held back laughter as she heard a strangled sound behind her, and someone whispering, "It's okay, it's okay. Maybe that chick's finger hurt his brain cells and he was temporarily confused?"

Odile turned around. "Impossible. Judging by the force of the flick, no brain cells would have been dislodged to the point where he would be unable to make conclusions about people sending him terrifying notes. He's probably just not into you."

Madelyn's eyes filled with tears. "But we went out last night!"

"And he lost interest. People can do that, did you know?" She twirled a lock of hair around her finger. "And be more careful about where you throw your pieces of paper. We don't want one hitting my head and _hurting this chick's brain cells_." She smiled innocently.

Farya Evans hissed, "Shut the fuck up, you freak."

She gave Farya a quick once-over. "I'm sorry."

Her eyes narrowed. "What? Are you really getting off your fucking high horse and apologizing? Wow, thanks, _Your Highness_."

"Oh, no. But your parents' recent divorce must be very difficult for you." _Bags under your eyes indicate lack of sleep. All the names of band members that you wrote on your binder have been crossed off, signaling a dying interest in the topic of romance, likely out of sadness. Aaaand ... I heard a rumor._

Her jaw fell. "How did you ... what ... you little bitch...!"

Odile looked concerned. "We're here for you, Farya. We can get through this together."

The blonde's eyes turned to flames. "I hope you burn in hell."

"I'll meet you there."

The bell rang. Madelyn got up and ran out the room, her friends chasing after her, yelling condolences. Farya ran after them, throwing one last dirty look behind her.

Odile smiled.

* * *

The post office wasn't far from her house, and so she immediately got on the bus, heading for her house. She checked her phone: 2:54P.M. Hopefully, her mother had drunk herself into oblivion by now, so all Odile would have to do is get her into bed and make sure she took her pills. This was usually a challenge in itself, but she felt optimistic today. Partly because she was going to hear from her older sister, who she hadn't heard from in _years_, and partly because she had found something new to occupy her mind.

She dug into her bag, pulling out a sketchbook and a pen. She opened to a clean page and her pen hit the paper. Earlier that morning, the newspaper had arrived, and she had read about a very peculiar puzzle: _Sixth Girl Missing. Suspected Kidnapping. _Six girls, all with blonde hair and brown eyes, had recently gone missing. The first had been exciting enough, but the fact that there was a _sixth _only proved how difficult the case was.

Talking to the police wouldn't be the best course of action, evidently. After all, they wouldn't bother listening to some stubborn little girl, no matter how much knowledge she claimed she had, or how prestigious her father's position had been.

He had left her all his mystery novels, equipment (including a fantastic microscope, and a magnifying glass that was her prized position), and even some private notes on cases he had solved, including pictures of dead bodies (which she had glanced at with unspeakable delight). However, she couldn't claim that a will would be enough to give her any proper credentials. So she was on her own.

_Statistically,_ she thought, _the killer should be a male. In which case, rape or sexual assault are likely. He's probably looking for a very specific breed of girl, which explains the blonde hair and brown eyes. _There was a girl in her math class, Emily Carlyle, who fit the profile. So perhaps she would have to keep a closer eye on her.

The bus rumbled along through the streets. In the back, a senior man yawned and shifted in his seat. A woman spoke in hushed whispers on the phone (_domestic argument_, Odile concluded. _She's embarassed of the argument's topic, and she took her wedding ring off after the call ended_). And Odile scribbled away any hints or clues that came to mind, facts that could help her solve the puzzle.

They exchanged tall buildings and bustling stores for white-picket-fence suburbia. Little kids outside, playing in the grass. Husbands and wives lounging on the front porch, sipping glasses of lemonade. Odile avoided looking at them. They were all so dull and ordinary.

Soon, even that faded behind them, and Odile found that she was the only one on the bus as the more run-down houses appeared: trailer parks, cigarettes strewn every which way, and cans of beer tossed on lawns of drying, yellow grass. The driver recoiled slightly as she made her way down the aisle and out the door, as if she would whip out a gun and mug him, like something on her mocha-brown skin branded her: _THUG._

The young girl shouldered her bag and began walking to her house. There was barely anyone out at the moment, and she was grateful. She finally reached her house, breathing a sigh of relief when she found only one car in the driveway. Thank God her mother didn't have any "friends" over. She was hoping for some quiet.

She pulled out her keys and unlocked the door. It took some jimmying, but it creaked open, and she stepped inside, closing it behind her. "Mama?" she called. "I'm home." She didn't expect a reply, but said it every day, regardless. More habit than hopeless optimism.

As expected, her mother was in her bedroom. She was lying on the couch, her arms slung over the sides, a bottle of champagne barely in her hand. Their tiny house only had three rooms and two bathrooms: a kitchen, a living room, and one bedroom. Every single one of them stank of alcohol, save for the kitchen, which she always cleaned (bacteria in the kitchen, especially, would lead to an illness, which she could NOT afford right now).

Odile walked up to her mother, shaking her shoulder slightly. "Hey, wake up. Pill time."

Her mother barely stirred. She lifted her head, stringy brown hair falling in her face. She was wearing a dirty sundress, stained with ketchup and beer. "Odetteee?" She slurred.

"Odile," her daughter corrected. "Different eyes, remember?"

"You left us, Odette...!" Her mother's hand flailed, and Odile swore before diving out of the way, just as the bottle of champagne smashed where she had been standing two seconds ago. "Go...! Go on get out of here you fucking bitch!"

Odile pulled on her bangs. "Mama, it's me, Odile." She grabbed her flailing wrists and looked her in the eye. "Different build, different eyes, different everything! Damnit, use your BRAIN..." She narrowly avoided a punch. She had gotten used to her mother's stinging hands. She wasn't so lucky when she was younger.

"Odette! Odette, where is Odile? Give me back my Odile or I'll kill you! You can't take her too! You and your stupid father!"

"I'll only go if you take your medicine," Odile said quickly.

Her mom stopped struggling, and blinked at her with confused, lidded eyes. "Forever? You will leave me and my Odile alone forever and ever?"

"For eternity."

Her mother looked deep in thought. Finally, she nodded. "Okay."

Odile let out a breath and dug into her bag. She took out two of the tiny blue pills and a water bottle. "Here."

Her mom slipped them into her mouth with shaky hands, and guzzled some water. She sat, looking dazed.

After a quick check to ensure the medicine had been swallowed, Odile began picking up the spare bottles around the room, putting them into the garbage bag in the corner. She was pleased to find that the rest of the house had been untouched by alcohol since the day she had cleaned it. She felt a weight lift off her shoulders and straightened herself as she walked. Maybe this was a good omen! A sign!

Good luck was coming her way. She would find her letter, and her sister would be coming home, like she had promised! A smile spread her lips and she practically skipped out the door and to the post box.

Her fingers were shaking with anticipation, but she eventually managed to get the key in and unlock the box. She pulled out a thick stack of letters, and flipped through bills, coupons for pizza (which she pocketed), and advertisements. At last, her heart jumped when she found a small white envelope, labeled, _Odette Adams, 52 Kuchen Boulevard, Kirsche, PA...__  
_  
Odile grinned, tearing the letter open with relish. Finally, she would be able to get a break! Finally, her sister would be coming back for her, whisking her away from this hell. She wondered what school in Kirsche would be like: would the kids be nicer? Smarter? Hell, she didn't even care, as long as she had a chance to escape!

She unfolded the letter, eyes dancing over the words eagerly.

_Dear Odile,_

_I haven't talked to you in years. This feels so weird. And it's also gonna be short, so sorry. I love you, Odile. I do. I recently moved in with my boyfriend! His name is Tim and he's a sweetheart and I am so in love with him it hurts. I know you think it's lame but try to be happy for me, okay? But Tim is ... well, he requires things. Expensive things. He's such a gentleman, and he loves me. But he also wants designer clothes and things, you know, and most of the money from work goes towards that. Tim doesn't have a job yet, you see, but he's trying! I'm going to pitch in some money and get him to university. And then we'll both get married and have kids, lots of kids. And you can come visit! But not too much. Tim said that he's really squeamish about blood and gore, and he finds you kinda creepy. No offense, but you sort of are. And I would probably still consider letting you come with us and live here, but we can't afford it! I'm sorry. All my money is going towards Tim. Love is the most important investment of all. And you'll realize that one day. Until then, please be careful and tell mom I say hi. I love you! In a few years, if you're slightly less freakish and a bit more normal (no offense!), you can stay with us and our kids. I'm naming the girl Cordelia Dion Natalia-_

Odile ripped the piece of paper into multiple smaller, jagged clones. She tossed the shreddings into the puddle next to her and stomped on them. _A person will die of blood loss in minutes if you sever the aorta or large pulmonary vessels. _Her hands clenched into fists and she snarled at the torn letter, as if it was personally responsible for ruining her life. _The jugular vein brings deoxygenated blood from the head back to the heart muscle._

Her ears were ringing and her head spun. One hand shot out and grabbed the post box to steady herself. She was so angry. _SoangrysoupsetshewantedtocryshewantedtoDIE—_

YEARS? She could barely survive minutes of having such a failure of a mother, of having to go to school and feel dead, of having to work every day and barely having time to solve her puzzles during the night, the one thing that kept her sane. She was sick of it. And the one person who had PROMISED to help her, who had looked her in the eyes four years ago and said, "I'm the good swan. You be as weird as ever and I will still come back and get you out of here," had now betrayed her for some loser boy who couldn't even work for his own pompous lifestyle!

_I hope Tim breaks her heart,_ she thought viciously. _I hope he makes her cry every night for years. I hope I'll be able to get out one day, and then Odette will come crawling to me and beg for forgiveness so I can turn her away.__  
_  
She gulped down a sound that threatened to erupt out of her throat, and wiped at her eyes. Then she turned and ran.

* * *

She didn't know what to do after that. She ran for a long, long time. Or, at least, it _felt _like a long time. But she checked her phone when she got to the park, and realized that ten minutes was not a long time. And so she sat on the bench at the park and scribbled angry drawings and words into her sketchbook. She scribbled every fact she could think of, created puzzles and math equations, played tic tac toe with sticks, drew dragons and flowers dying and angry screaming girls with black eyes. She didn't want to go home.

_It's not fair, _she thought to herself bitterly. _I've gotten this far without killing someone, right? Cut me some slack here. _

'Slack' was not an option with a mother like hers. Jaleelah Adams required constant supervision, and Odile had been looking after her since she was eleven, when her father had died. That was around the time all of her friends had faded, not bothering to put in the energy to help someone who was sinking too fast. And then the alcohol came. And the multiple boyfriends. And Odette picked up and left, promising to come back and get her in a year. A year turned to three years turned to four turned to infinity. And Odile wondered if perhaps she was meant for this kind of life. That she was meant to live as a ghost, as a machine with too many pieces barely held together by rusting wire.

"Are you sad?"

The girl jerked up, eyes widening. She glanced over to her right, and found a little boy sitting on the bench beside her. He had shaggy blonde hair and was clutching a lollipop protectively. She recognized him as Joseph Carlyle, Emily's little brother.

"No."

"You look sad," he said, sticking the lollipop in his mouth. "You were crying."

"I wasn't. Where are your friends?" She pasted on a smile, trying to look as happy as possible.

"Don't got any."

"Oh. Your parents, then?"

The boy was silent. Then he shook his head. "Don't know."

"You're lost?"

"Yeah." He kicked his legs back and forth and stared at the gravel. "I'm gonna wait five minutes, then call the police!"

Odile shook her head, smiling slightly. "No need. I'll take you home."

"Whaaat? I don't know you! You're a stranger!" He leapt up from the bench and narrowed his eyes, as if taking a defensive stance.

"Not really. My name's Odile. I go to school with your big sister, Emily."

His eyes widened. "You know Emily...? Oh..." He glanced at his toes, frowning. "Okay. I'll go with you. But my daddy knows karate, so if you try to ... try to kidnap me, then I'll yell and he'll come and kick your butt!"

Odile nodded. "Deal."

Joseph was a chatty little boy, and Odile appreciated it. She had never liked talking or speaking, especially about her own life and hobbies, and making small talk. Even as a kid, all of her friends had been talkative and perky, as if she had picked them specifically to compensate for her introversion. The little boy skipped along and sucked his lollipop and talked merrily about his favorite toys and video games, all the embarrassing things Emily did, and that his father really loved toy trains, and had a secret train collection in the basement. Odile smiled and nodded and laughed when appropriate.

"And, you know, I'm gonna be an astronaut!"

"Oh, are you? That sounds cool."

"But I'm also gonna join the FBI and the NFL and the CBC!"

"...Okay. Wow. You'll be a busy man, huh?"

"Yeah, but I'm gonna marry a pretty girl and have over a gazillion kids!"

Odile shuddered. "I feel bad for your poor wife."

"Why?" He tilted his head to the side. "Girls like children! Why would she be sad?"

"Nevermind. That's a story for another day."

He gave her a suspicious look and shrugged. "Wait, didja say your name was ... Odile?"

She nodded. "Yeah."

Joseph looked confused. "Emily never mentioned you, though."

"Yeah. I'm ... quiet."

"Why? Be loud! Loud is good but quiet is boring!"

Odile shrugged. "Sometimes, quiet is okay."

"That makes no sense!" he giggled. "You're weird."

The brunette twitched. "Thanks."

They finally reached his house, and she was relieved. Joseph was nice, but he was also blunt and ... energetic. He also tried to stop their walk many times, eager to observe a particularly interesting blade of grass, or a pile of dog poop. She walked him to his front door, knocked, and waited.

There was no answer.

She tried again.

...

Silence.

Odile turned her head. "There's no car in the driveway. Are you sure they're home?"

Joseph paled. "Uh-oh."

"What?" Her eyebrows furrowed. "What?"

"My dad gave me a note but ... but I didn't read it!" He promptly burst into tears.

_Huh? _Panic settled into her stomach. "Wait, what? Where's the note? Do you have it with you?"

He nodded tearfully. "It's in my pocket but ... but his writing is so messy and you brought me here and walked and I made a mistake!"

Odile blinked. "Ah, Joseph, it's fine."

"No, it's no-o-o-ot!"

"Joseph, um..." She thought quickly. "My house is really near to this place."

He sniffed. "Really?"

"Yeah. I was coming here anyways."

"Oh." It was like he had sucked his tears back in. He straightened and nodded. "So it's good." He pulled out the slip of paper and handed it to her.

Odile wrinkled her nose (it was sticky with peanut butter) but unfolded it. Joseph hadn't been kidding. His father's handwriting looked like some odd blend of cursive and Russian letters. But – even if barely – it was English.

"'Go ... to ... Beverly's house'." She looked down at the boy. "Does that mean anything to you?"

Joseph's eyes lit up, and he nodded. "Beverly's our neighbor!"

"Is your sister there?"

"I think so."

"Your mom?"

"She's visiting gramma. And dad's at work! Oooh, I remember now! Beverly's gonna take care of us!" His voice dropped to a conspirational whisper. "She lets us watch the grown up shows with kissing!"

Odile coughed. "How ... nice. Want me to walk you there?"

"...Yeah." He looked down. "Unless you don't wanna. Then go home."

She shrugged. "It's not an issue."

"Good! Beverly's over there." He grabbed her hand and practically dragged her along the sidewalk. "She has a big car and three dogs! We only have a fish and he's kinda boring..."

"Mhm ... yeah, fish can be dull."

"Yeah! I want a cat, but Emily's allergic. She's allergic to everything. Did you know that if she eats tuna she will _die?!_"

_Huh, really? That's useful information. This kid could be helpful! _"Wow! That's, uh, very sad."

"Yeah." He shrugged. "But tuna is gross."

"True, true. Hey, how come your dad wants you guys at Beverly's house?"

"I dunno. He said he had work. But he told Emily he had a surprise for her."

"A surprise?" _Why would he tell them two different things? More importantly, shouldn't _Joseph _know about the surprise? _"What kind of surprise?"

"Maybe a car! She really wants expensive clothes. She came home crying last week because this girl was being mean to her since she didn't have a lot of good clothes."

_Oh. Right. _Emily was known for being the butt of many jokes. This was partly because she was extremely sensitive, and partly because she hung out with people that constantly bullied and tormented her, yet she stayed with them anyways. _She has no backbone._

"He's probably working really, really hard! Do you think he'll get me a bike too?"

Before Odile could offer her personal analysis on the likelihood of Joseph receiving a bicycle from his father in the near future, he jumped up. "There's Beverly's house!"

"Oh, alright. Well, uh, have fun. Eat ... well. And, um, be nice to your sister."

He looked at her like she was crazy, but nodded. Then he charged forward and wrapped his stubby arms around her legs. At first, she panicked. _Is he trying to kill me or something?! _But then she realized it was simply an awkward hug, and she patted his head, silently hoping it would be over soon.

"Thank you, Odile!" he chirped. "Emily's making fudge for her class on Monday, so I'll tell her to give you _two _pieces."

"Uh, could you make it three?" she whispered, giving a charming smile.

"Sure! Bye!" He waved and skipped off. She waited until he had disappeared safely into the house before turning on her heel and beginning the long walk back to her house. She checked the time on her phone: _4:58 PM. _She had time. She stuffed her hands in her pockets and walked along. When she passed Emily's house, she froze.

A black Honda was still in the driveway.

She knew that Emily's family only had two cars. If her mother had taken one to drive to her grandmother's house, then the other ... should have been gone as well, since her father was supposed to be at work.

_Huh. Weird._

But she would have walked on and brushed it off as nothing but Joseph's incorrect knowledge, when she heard a strange noise.

It didn't sound like anything in particular. Not a banging or screaming or screeching. More like ... scratching. The wind picked up and she shivered, pulling her coat tighter around her. She tucked her collar up to cover her ears. Something in her stomach stirred. _Check it out._

_ It's nothing. Just a tiny coincidence._

_ Oh, come on! Coincidences barely happen. There's a reason behind everything._

_ So?_

_ And it's your job to find that reason._

_ It's my job to go home and make sure my mom doesn't choke on her own vomit._

_ Uh, no it's not. Besides, what'll you do when you get home, anyway? Go to sleep? Wake up? Go to school? This ... this could be an _adventure.

_But it probably won't be._

_ In which case, you'll go home, go to sleep, wake up, and go to school anyways. No difference._

_ ...Fine. But if I die, I'll kill you._

_ Sure!_

Odile inhaled deeply and walked along the path and up to the front door. She rang the doorbell and waited. She wasn't sure what she would find. Robbers? Murderers? The former would be boring, and the latter would be fantastic! But ... it could also be dangerous. Eh, fun came with a price.

After one minute, she sighed, tapping her foot impatiently. She rang the doorbell again, and waited _two _minutes. She turned the doorknob experimentally. To her utter surprise – and joy – it moved. She grinned, and the door swung open with a barely audible creak. Odile stepped in quickly, and shut it behind her. All of a sudden, the true extent of what she had just done hit her full force, and her stomach plummeted. _I just broke into a house._

The gears in her head sprung to life, searching through information and words and numbers, and originally slowed when an excuse formed: _I came to talk to Emily about English homework and heard a scream. _They could easily brush it off as nothing but a teenager's mistake, as long as she didn't vandalize or steal anything.

The house was immaculately clean, to the point where Odile was afraid to breathe. Her boots clicked as she walked down the hall and into the living room. Still clean. For a family with two kids, their cleaning was impressive. Their furniture was quite fancy-looking, as well, from the suede couch to the embroidered pillows. There were multiple paintings hung on the walls, everything from landscapes to sketchy portraits to bowls of fruit. Odile observed the house carefully.

She picked up a card off the table. It was a business card, reading _Josh Norton, Real Estate Agent. I'll sell your house in two weeks, guaranteed! _She raised an eyebrow. How odd.

There it was again! That sound! Her heart picked up and she cleared her throat before calling out, experimentally, "Agent Odile Holmes, FBI! Is anyone in here?" Obviously, that was a lie. But—

"Please! Please, come down here!"

Odile's jaw dropped. _What. The. Hell. _The voice came from the basement, and she remembered what Joseph had told her.

_"He told me was working on a secret train project in the basement!" _

Trains didn't talk.

Without thinking, Odile threw the basement door open and took the steps two at a time. She wasn't sure what she was going to find. But someone was _in _here. Someone that didn't want to be in here. Emily's father had been working on a 'secret project' in the basement. And she had read enough mystery novels to know that that was never a good sign.

"Hello?" she called. "Who's in here?" She flicked on the lights and her eyes widened.

A young girl was sitting on the couch. Her hair was matted, and she was dressed in nothing but a tattered white nightdress. Her arms were covered with bruises and scratches and she observed Odile with terrified gray eyes. Her hands were tied behind her back, and there was another rope that tied her left ankle to a pillar.

"Uh, hi." Odile could feel her stomach turning with a mixture of excitement and nerves.

"Y-You're not FBI! Who are you?!" The girls shrunk into the corner of the couch. "No! No, leave me alone!"

"Hey, calm down. I'm an ... undercover agent."

"You expect me to believe you?! You look twelve!"

_Twitch. _"Look, calm down. Stop yelling. Stop ... feeling. Uh, just ... try to think logically. Who are you? What happened?"

She swallowed, playing with the ring on her finger as she stared at Odile. The basement was, like the rest of the house, well-done. It was a finished basement, with a large theatre system (that made Odile practically drool), and an intricate array of ceiling lights. There was even a mini-refrigerator right beside the couch.

But what really stood out were the _paintings. _

_Emily's father is such a delightfully sick man, _Odile thought happily. The paintings were all violent and gruesome, and appeared to come from unknown artists, as none of them were signed. One displayed a woman's naked torso, with the arms and legs cut off. The other was off a dancing boy who's head and feet danced in opposite directions, and who's arms were twisted at a crooked angle.

"My name ... is ... Eleanor."

"Real name?"

"...Eleanor!"

"Oh. Well, hello, Eleanor. Now, how did you get here? And these bruises ... who gave them to you?"

Eleanor shivered. "Please, please, let's just leave first! Please! What if they come back? Oh, god, they'll want to kill you, too. They'll kill both of us!" She began heaving, dry sobs making it almost impossible to distinguish her words. "Oh god oh god no no no—"

"Hey, get a hold of yourself." Odile sighed, working quickly to undo her bonds.

"C-Call the police! They'll come for me! For us!"

Odile bit her lips as she worked. She probably _should _call the police. After all, she was 5"1 and dreadfully skinny. Eleanor was tall and sporty-looking, but too scared to be of much use. If Mr. Carlyle had an accomplice, they would be screwed. But ... this was her biggest puzzle yet. She wanted to let it drag on a bit. And, more importantly, she wanted to know why and how the killers were working. That is, assuming Mr. Carlyle had killed those other girls as well. Considering the improbability of there being two criminals of such a severe degree in one town, she deduced they were the same. And that interested her. Mr. Carlyle had always been a kind, charming man. Why risk throwing away his perfect family and life? Why? She had to know why, or her mind wouldn't be able to stop racing. Selfish? Yeah. Insane? Definitely. Stupid? She liked to think it was smart. The police wouldn't give her information. So they were out. She had to do this on her own.

"My phone's dead," Odile said as the ropes around her hands fell away. Eleanor exhaled, rubbing her wrists with relief as Odile started on her feet.

"H-How did you find me?"

"Investigation, deductive reasoning, and boredom"

"Looklooklook please we have to go now! He's going to come here and kill us!"

"Do you know where he puts his dead bodies?"

"Huh?"

"The girls he's killed before. Cuts them up? Freezes them?" Her stomach jumped and she fought a smile. _"Eats them?"_

"I-I ... how the hell am I supposed to know?! I'm not some sicko!"

"Right." _You're boring._

"He's a psycho! I want to leave now!"

"So why don't you?"

"He'll _kill _me! He's going to come back! I—"

From upstairs, there was a sudden crash, and both girls froze. Two voices. Screaming. Yelling. Odile's throat closed up. _Oh. My. God. _

She was in the same house with a _murderer._

She had no protection.

She had a mystery ... and she could fucking _die. _Brutally. She could be tortured and killed. It was a possibility and, currently, likely. And although her heart sped up with fear, and part of her couldn't help but shake and worry (because, despite everything, she didn't want to _die_), part of her leaped up from a warm chair, eyes wide with delight.

Her lips spread into a grin. _Bring it on._

She jumped to her feet, turning to the whimpering Eleanor. "Two?"

"What?"

"Hurry. Two men?"

"Y-Yeah."

"Buff?"

"O-One. Is buff. The other is ... kinda skinny."

"Alright. Look. I'm going to hide. In that cupboard. You need to hide under the couch. And give some indication that you're there. They have to know you're hiding there, so make some noise or something, okay? Then, you need to..."

She explained her plan quickly, hoping the two would allow her more time. They appeared to be in an argument of some sort, and their voices switched from loud to quiet multiple times. But she soon heard their yells gradually drop down to whispers, and they didn't rise again. _The less emotional they get, the more rationally they'll be able to think. And then it'll only be a matter of time before they'll remember to check on their hostage. _

"I ... I can't!" Eleanor squeaked, tears springing to her eyes. "I can't!"

"Look, don't be an idiot," Odile snapped. "Trust me. I'll do the attacking. I'm a trained professional. You just need to help me. I promise, I'll get you out of here. Promise."

She still looked extremely doubtful. When she opened her mouth to protest, Odile put her best lie forward.

"If it comes to it, I'll use my gun."

"A gun?" she breathed, her shoulders lifting a little. "You have a weapon?"

"What kind of cop do you think I am?"

She nodded, looking at her with a smidgen of confidence. "Okay ... okay..."

Odile sighed with relief. "Thank you." She huddled once more and disappeared into the cupboard, closing the doors over her. She heard shuffling and a muffled, "I'm under the couch," from Eleanor.

"Okay," she whispered back. "Now remember the plan."

The two waited. Odile couldn't explain the twisted adrenaline coursing through her veins. She thought of her mother, drunk and pathetic and at home. Those people at school that teased her once she didn't have the energy to paste on smiles and make useless small talk, that would be partying and drinking tonight. She grinned. Finally! She could put her skills and intellect to proper use. And she loved it. Despite the danger. Despite the fear.

It was so much _fun. _

Odile held her breath when she heard footsteps, gradually growing in volume and speed. They stopped, suddenly, and there was a gasp. "What the fuck?! Royce? Royce! Get over here! The bitch is gone!"

More footsteps. Another man – Royce – shrieked, "You've got to be fucking with me ... did she get out? Didn't you lock the door?! She was tied up, man, how the hell..."

"Don't blame me! She got out of the ropes! People don't just _do _that! Do you think the cops got in? Ah, fuck, man, we gotta get out of here. Shit, man...'

"Calm your tits, Greg. She—"

The man was cut off as loud, upbeat music started blasting from a cellphone.

_One minute I'm in Central Park! Then I'm down on Delancey Street! From the Bow'ry—_

Odile pressed the off button on her phone quickly, her heart pounding. _Fuck. Fuck, mom, you had to call _now!? _You had to remember my number _today?! _Why did I pick such a loud ringtone?! I am going to die—_

The door of the cupboard was thrown open, and she was exposed.

A large, muscular man (at least 6"3) with pale skin and a balding head was staring down at her. He looked completely and utterly shocked, his mouth flapping open and shut like a fish. Odile sat, rigid, for about two seconds before springing into action. She jumped up, wrapped her legs around his stomach, and pressed her thumbs to his eye sockets, pushing as hard as she could.

The man was screaming louder than she'd ever heard, shaking and writhing and twisting, trying to get her off of him. She fought to stay on, her legs straining. She didn't even stop when her thumbs touched something wet, and red leaked down his face.

In the struggle, she managed to yell, "Eleanor, take the other guy down!" He was wearing a ski mask, but he was small and scrawny. Eleanor was tall and athletic-looking. She might be able to handle him. Instead, there was a shuffling noise and Eleanor crawled out from under the bed, dodged the second man's grip, and was up the stairs in a matter of seconds, like a frightened dear. Odile nearly froze up. _She ditched me? I can't take two of these guys ... damnit!_

The man ran into the wall, slamming into it with force. It knocked the wind out of Odile, who crumpled off him and to the floor. She lay there, ankle throbbing and head spinning, desperately trying to breathe.

Her victim was on the floor, writhing in pain, clutching at his eyes. Blood seeped through his fingers, and she nearly felt bad. _I did this ... eh, he was probably a murderer anyway. _

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, man! I can't see!" His voice raised to a hysteric howl. "Kill her! Kill that fucking bitch! Kill her!" He was flailing, and he grabbed a hold of Odile's foot. She yelped as he pulled her. "Fuck you! I'm going to—"

_Bang!_

Royce stopped moving and the man with the ski mask tucked his gun away.

Odile panted, backing up against the wall. She couldn't look away from Royce's still, bleeding body. She had seen countless dead, mutilated bodies in photos and movies. She was able to stomach gore that most of her classmates felt sick just thinking about. But seeing a dead body _in front of her, _and knowing she had mutilated it (albeit in self defense) ... well, it was weird. She tried to edge her way to the stairs, but the Ski Mask Man shook his head. "Keep moving and I'll cut your tongue off."

_Ouch. _Odile lifted her hands. "Okay, okay. Sorry."

The man pulled his mask off. Odile couldn't help but be surprised. Sure, she had known who would be underneath it. But seeing it right in front of her – validating her hypothesis – was something new entirely. And it hit her that she didn't know what to do. At all.

_Shit._

"M-Mr. Carlyle!" she croaked, clearing her throat. "You ... uh..."

"Killed all those women, yes." He smiled a sad-looking smile. "Odile, I'm very sorry. You know me. I'd have never done it if I didn't have to."

"Sorry doesn't do anything."

He laughed. "You're right! You're right. I just ... I don't know what else to say. Sorry can provide comfort!"

"Does Emily know?"

"Of course not. I killed those girls to _protect _her. To help her."

Greg Carlyle was a kind man. He ran an electronics shop downtown. People knew him and, generally, liked him. She couldn't fathom the fact that—well, actually, she could. The best psychopaths were the most charming and kind. But ... if he had a motive, then perhaps that made him more acting-out-of-love rather than a pure psychopath.

"Hmm ... well, why were you snooping? You do know you've ruined my entire plan, don't you?"

"Well, sorry. I was going to let that girl die, but..." She shrugged. "Miscalculation."

"Odile ... you've cost me a lot, you know. That girl's parents were going to pay the ransom."

Odile's eyes widened. _Ransom. He wants money ... but ... why ... oh. _She remembered reading an article a short while back, on how the economy was failing, and many shops in Gellbea that were being forced to close down. However, it seemed unlikely that it was something as simple as ransom. The glint in his eyes. The way he had shot his colleague so easily, and had barely batted an eye as Odile had blinded him. And the bruises on Eleanor, signaling prior torture...

"You're wrong."

He froze. "What?"

"It's not just the ransom. Sure, you want to keep your family afloat. And you want to buy Emily those clothes, too, right?"

"H-How did you—"

"But that's not all. All those girls you murdered had blonde hair and brown eyes." Her heart sped up as her lips spread into a wicked grin. "Were you going to kill your own daughter next?"

Mr. Carlyle looked at her as if he were seeing her for the first time. His eyes were wide and terrified, and he backed up against the wall. "How much do you know?!"

"Please. It's logic. Nothing more, nothing less. All of your victims looked similar, and they looked like your daughter. But why ... why would you kill her?" She couldn't help but feel almost _calm. _She knew that this man had the power to end her life. And she knew that she was virtually defenseless. But, oh God, wasn't this fun? She loved the interrogation, putting pieces of the puzzle together, the high, the adrenaline...

It was what she _lived _for.

He shook his head, looking down at his hands. "I couldn't help it ... the first girl, I swear, was just for the money! But I was stupid. Her family was poor. And she was clever. She nearly got away, so I killed her. But ... I loved it." He let out a bitter, hollow laugh. "I loved it! I loved the fear in her eyes! I loved being in control! I loved that I, a lowly shop-owner, had _power _over life and death. It was incredible!"

Odile nodded. _He has a gun, so I'll have to disarm him before I make a run for it. Unless I jump out and surprise him ... maybe there's something I could grab to throw. Or a weapon? He's aware of the blinding trick, but..._

"...and now, I know that I'm not alone."

She bit back a yelp as he leaned in, placing his arms around her. Immediately, she shivered in disgust, her her stomach twisting. _Fuck off, you creepy bastard. _She wished she had a knife; she wanted nothing more than to chop his filthy arms off at that moment.

"Odile, you looked at me, and you saw my true motives. And yet..." He stroked her hair, his voice dropping to a whisper. "And, yet, you didn't look at me with disgust. You looked at me like I was a human being. I know, Odile, that you understand me and what I do. You're just like me, aren't you?" His eyes shone. "You want to kill. To end life! To destroy it! To feel it run between your fingers and know – _know – _that you have the _ultimate_—"

"Nah."

He stopped in the middle of his monologue. "What?" he croaked.

"Killing is boring. I'd much rather solve the puzzle."

The man looked at her, blinking, lowering his arms from her, much to her relief. "I see," he mumbled, appearing dazed. "So you think it is ... wrong."

"You killed a bunch of teenage girls. Interesting? Yup. But if you think I'm into that kind of stuff, then you're not as smart as you make yourself out to be."

He nodded, swallowing hard.

"B-But that can change!"

Mr. Carlyle looked at her, eyebrow raised. "What do you mean?"

"You don't have to, uh, hurt me. I mean, maybe you could just threaten me not to tell or you'll kill my family or something? Oh! Or hold me for ransom! The other girls got ransoms, didn't they?"

He laughed lightly, shaking his head. "Your mother won't even notice you're gone, much less fork over a million dollars."

..._Ouch._

"Well..." Without warning, she launched herself at him, bloodstained thumbs ready to blind another. But he was ready for her. He kicked her squarely in the stomach before her thumbs could make contact with his eyes, and she doubled over, wheezing. The killer grabbed her from around the waist and pulled her so that she had her back pressed to him. Her stomach hurt terribly, and she fought to breathe. She could barely think straight. She only heard a vague, "Sorry, love," and her heart sank. She kicked her legs wildly as a flash of silver danced in the corner of her vision, and her neck suddenly erupted with pain.

Pain. Searing pain, unlike anything she had ever felt before. It ripped across her throat, and buzzed through her body like electricity, making her want to cry out. Only she couldn't. Any sound she attempted to create only resulted in gurgling, with more blood sinking down her body, and it hit her, through all the chaos: _He just slit my throat._

She fell on her side, body limp, spots dancing at the colour of her vision. She couldn't see anything. She couldn't feel anything. The pain was all that she could think about, all she could see, feel, _hear, _drowning out her every sense until the world was a roaring wave of red.

And then everything went black.

* * *

**this was actually written as a dare. and, as such, it's my first OC in this fandom. i have some other stuff i've written for Fullmetal Alchemist, but none of it has been published yet. **

** i hope this doesn't turn out cliche or lame. it was surprisingly fun to write. but i'm also really busy all the time, so i apologize in advance if my updating schedule is shit.**

**also, the cover image is a piece of artwork by Agnes Cecile. i suggest you all check her works out. they're incredible.**

** enjoy.**


	2. A Tyrant's Fist

**chapter two**

**_'There is nothing more deceptive than an obvious fact.' ~ The Boscombe Valley Mystery_  
**

* * *

Though it was cliche and unlikely to occur, Odile woke up on a street corner in the middle of a storm.

There was a loud sound, like someone cracking a whip, and she gasped as her eyes flew open. She knew she was lying on something hard and cold. The world was bathed in gray, the sky rumbling as if it had been starved for too long. She sat up, blinking, her mind completely blank, except for one thought: _This rain feels really nice. _Rain was always nice. Water was so calming. She used to go swimming a lot as a kid. And even after she stopped, she would often lie in the bathtub for hours, thinking.

She stood up slowly, her head feeling heavier than it ever had. She felt like she was filled with lead, and she looked around dazedly, wondering why everything looked so dull and lifeless.

A streetlamp flickered to life, offering a spark of fire to the otherwise desolate atmosphere.

All previous memories of what had happened raced back to her in a flash, and she stumbled.

_Her throat had been slit. _

The wind picked up and blew her hair around her face.

_She had bled to death. There was no way she could have survived that._

Her hands clawed at her neck, and she was surprised to find the skin was held together, though it felt different from the rest of her skin.

_Was she scarred?_

Another clap of thunder erupted, and she nearly jumped.

_Where am I?_

Immediately, her heart started racing, and she did a quick check of her body. _Doesn't look like I've been touched or raped while unconscious. Thank god. But ... if I was killed, then ... is this heaven?_

She looked around and wrinkled her nose. "Kind of a lame setup, God."

A car raced past, its wheels splashing water all over her already-shivering form. She muttered another curse inside her head. _Not heaven. God is a social construct designed to provide comfort. Plus, I don't see any rivers of honey. And I'm not burning. So not hell._

Which meant she was alive. And someone – someone – had carried her here. But it didn't make any sense. Her mind went into overdrive, the gears whirling, as she tried to analyze her current predicament. The skin appeared to be scarred heavily, but it had stopped bleeding, around her neck. Which meant that she had been unconscious for ... what, at least a few weeks? And it also meant that someone had gotten to her quick enough to stop the bleeding and save her life. She doubted Greg Carlyle had done so. And Eleanor had fled the scene. But what kind of asshole just left an injured girl on a wet street corner?

It didn't make any _sense._

_Okay, _she thought, taking a deep breath. _Okay. First order of business: find out where you are. Find a bus. Find a place to stay. Wait, no. Place to stay. Then food. Then bus. Action! _

Odile set out on her quest, but soon came to the realization that the town was dreadfully ... empty. Even after walking for a good ten minutes or so, she wasn't able to find a single human being. Hell, even the shops looked closed. _Is it a holiday? But there's no celebratory signs out... _Even the car that she had seen earlier was nowhere to be found.

She dug her cell phone out of her pocket and tried to dial 911. When she brought the phone to her ear, however, she was disappointed to find nothing but a taunting _beep-beep-beep_. She shut it off with a sigh and tucked it away. "Alright ... no reception."

_Oof! _

Something slammed into her, hard, nearly sending her toppling. She caught herself in time, whipping around. There was a small, shaking man in front of her, looking no older than eighteen. He yelped, bowing slightly. "I-I'm so sorry, ma'am! It was an accident! I didn't mean to—please forgive me!" In his arms were a large amount of bags, filled with what looked like wrapped packages of some sort.

"Woah, woah." She raised her hands, stepping back. "It's fine."

"Cerin! Why the hell have you stopped?"

The pale boy grew even whiter, and he gulped, turning around tentatively. "Please, sir, I just—"

"No excuses." Around the corner came a tall, thin man. He had a hooked nose and practically no eyebrows, but an otherwise handsome face. But it was weighted down with a heavy glower, which was currently directed at the shaking Cerin. "I've told you, I have a _meeting. _You know, my last secretary was fired for his tardiness." He smiled a cold, sleazy smile. "You don't want to suffer the same fate, do you? After all, you have your _sister _to think about."

"No, sir, of course not, sir!" He shook his head, tightening his grip on the bags in hands. "I was simply—"

"We do not apologize to street rats, Cerin." The man turned his nose up at Odile.

_Street rat?! _She immediately gaped, feeling a tad bit like Aladdin. "Uh, I'm not homeless."

"I've never seen you around here before. And I know _everyone_."

"With all due respect, you obviously don't know _everyone _since I'm a new face."

His eyes narrowed, and she could practically feel the disgust coming off of him in waves. "Name."

"Odile."

"Well, _Odile,_" he drawled, smiling another cold smile. "Welcome to Arno. I hope you won't be staying long."

_...Huh? _"Arno? Is that any close to Gellbea?"

"Gellbea?" He laughed, a harsh, barking sound. "Never heard of it!"

_Damnit. So I'm far. _"Uh, alright. Is it in the North Region?"

This time, he simply gave her a confused, skeptical look.

_I'm very far. _"Is it in Ontario?"

More confusion.

She sighed, digging into her pocket and coming up with a crumpled twenty-dollar bill. "Here. I'll give you this if you give me information." _Perhaps bribery would work?_

The man scrutinized the green piece of paper, amusement only growing on his face. "Ma'am, here in Arno, we have fantastic medical assistance for those with mental impairments."

"I'm not stupid!" she hissed. "It was a question."

"I'm not suggesting stupid. I'm suggesting..." He broke off, smirking, and twirled one finger near his head.

Cerin forced a laugh. "You're very clever, sir...!"

"Forget it," Odile muttered. "Good day." _I hope you fall into a pit and break all of your limbs. And then dogs can climb down and eat you alive. _She turned on her heel and stalked off, ignoring the sounds of the man's laughter. The first people she had met in this town, and they'd both turned out to be utterly useless. But one thing was for sure: she was far. Extremely far. Hell, she'd never even _heard _of Arno! Her stomach fluttered with anxiety. She didn't have much money with her. How could she possibly travel so far? Maybe if she looked pitiful enough, a bus could offer her a free ride...

And that was when Miracle # 1 happened: beside a streetlamp, she found a very helpful item: a brown, leather wallet.

Without thinking, she scooped it up, looking around quickly. Nope. No one was around. Not even that creepy man and his servant boy. With great delight, she opened it up, digging through its contents. _Aha! Money! _There were at least a dozen bills in there, with six digit numbers stamped on. Whoever owned this wallet was rich. Strangely enough, the currency was _yen. _So ... she was in Japan? But that man from before had spoken in perfect English! She shook her head. She didn't have time to think it over right now. She needed a building to sit and think in before she could sort through the chaos of facts she had been presented with.

There was an ID card inside the wallet. That card was Miracle # 2.

Because the picture on that card was of the man from earlier. He had the same watery smile painted onto his face as he looked at the camera, and her own smile grew. Any previous doubts she'd had about stealing some innocent man's money faded. _Karma is a bitch. _

Besides. She had to live up to her new Aladdin-esque street rat reputation, right?

* * *

Of course, even with those two miracles, she couldn't help but be worried. There was a pit of anxiety sitting in her stomach, only growing as she turned unfamiliar turn after unfamiliar turn. She encountered some other human beings along the way, but they definitely didn't look up for conversation. The man from before had – at least – looked a bit lively. These people just looked kind of ... dead.

Still, she couldn't stop the web of tangled facts that was being spun in her mind with each new discovery she made. A town that used a Japanese currency but that spoke English and had English signs and didn't appear to be Japanese at all. Someone who had provided decent medical attention to her at the speed of light but that had still dumped her miles and miles away from home during the middle of a storm. The fact that she was _alive _was a surprise in itself. It was like the world was taunting her, throwing useless information at her and sitting back, like, _Let's watch you try to solve _this _one. _

Odile tried to calm her thoughts from whirling out of control. She knew that anxiety and panic was based off of irrationality and emotions, both of which would not help her in the slightest during this situation. She had to break things down, tackle everything one at a time, and put together the pieces of the puzzle one piece at a time. Only then would she be able to end up with a full picture.

_Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains – no matter how improbable – must be the truth._

In a rare moment of courage, she stopped a woman who was pushing a stroller, and blurted, "Uh, excuse me."

The woman turned, looking surprised. "Yes?" she asked, surprisingly calm.

"Um. I was wondering ... is there a motel I can stay in? Or an inn? Or ... something?"

The lady was quiet for a moment, and Odile considered repeating her question, in case she hadn't heard her. But then she nodded, lifting a thin finger to point to a building down the sidewalk. "There's an inn there, at the end. Small place. But good hospitality. Though we don't have many tourists around." She shook her head, smiling a sad smile. "Ever since Melville Barnett showed up..."

"Melville Barnett? Who is he?" _Ah! So this town has a corrupted leader of some sort! _Now_ we're getting somewhere!_

The woman's eyes widened, and she bit her lip. "I've said too much. Enjoy your stay." And she was off, practically running.

_...Or not._

Regardless, she appreciated the information. The inn, despite being small and plain-looking, emitted a comfortable warmth, which was a welcome change from the windy cold outside. She pushed through the doors with excitement, and marched right up to the front desk.

"Hi," she breathed. "One room. Please."

The woman at the front desk looked nearly stunned for a moment, her eyes growing to the size of saucers. But then her face erupted into a brilliant smile, and she nodded eagerly. "Coming right up, Miss..."

"Odile."

"Right! How many nights?"

"Uh..." She dug into her pocket and pulled out one of the bills. "How many days will this cover?"

If possible, the lady looked even _more _shocked. Her jaw dropped at the sight of the money. "W-Wow! How did you ... get this much money?"

"Um." _I stole it. _"Rich parents."

"Why, I'm honored to be serving someone of such obvious prestige! That will get you at least a month's stay."

"A month?" Odile cleared her throat. "Well, ah, I don't intend to stay that long. Maybe two weeks. But here."

"Oh." The woman nodded, looking around awkwardly. "I'm sure I have some change here somewhere..."

"Keep it."

"...What?" She looked up, her mouth flapping open and closed like a fish. "Did you say—"

"Keep the change." She looked away from the woman's intense stare. "I've got ... a lot. Um. Yeah. Keep it."

The woman looked as if she'd been given the key to paradise itself. Odile wondered what kind of state this town was in, exactly, to have its citizens look so bleak and hopeless. Obviously, this woman wasn't used to customers, let alone _gratitude. _

"Thank you, thank you! Oh, I really do—"

"DONNA!"

The woman – Donna – squeaked, flinching. In through the door marched the same asshole that had picked on Odile earlier.

Whose wallet she had in her pocket.

She pulled her shirt lower over her jeans and tried to look innocent. But it was as if she was invisible. He stomped past her and up to the front desk, where he started screaming so loud, spit flew out of his mouth. Poor Donna looked almost faint.

"I know what you've done! Hand it over now, and the repercussions won't be as severe!"

"I-I don't know what you're talking about!" Donna whimpered.

"You came over and _dared _to ask me for a raise for this pathetic little dump of yours? And then when I decline, you resort to _thievery_?"

"I haven't done anything of the sort, Mr. Barnett! Please! Believe me!"

_Mr. Barnett...? _The name that that other woman had mentioned earlier. So this was the tyrant? Melville Barnett? Resident asshole and town leader? She hadn't even bothered to read the _name _on his ID card earlier, and felt kind of imbecilic for not doing so. However, she was beginning to like him less and less.

"You do know what the punishment is for stealing, correct?"

Her voice rose to a hysteric shriek. "Please, sir, I haven't stolen anything from you!"

"You're lying! You have a bill in your hand! I know you can't afford that kind of money!"

"Actually," Odile interjected. "That was from me."

He paused, his gaze turning towards her, as if noticing her existence for the first time. "What did you say?"

"Me. I gave her the money. For a room to stay. Because ... this is an inn and I needed a place to stay." _Damn my social skills. That came out a lot less threatening than I'd hoped._

"...And where, pray tell, did you get that money? You'd offered me that green currency beforehand. And, yet, now you manage to gain this?"

"Uh, well, if you'd bothered to listen, you'd have understood that I'm the daughter of a nobleman."

"Really."

"Yes. From ... Russia."

"I've never heard of it."

She bit her tongue to keep from screaming. _Did this guy drop out in the first grade?! How the hell hasn't heard of _Russia?! "I'm very sorry to hear that. It's a lovely place. Ah, anyway, have you lost something, sir?"

"Not that it's any of your business, but yes." He sniffed. "My wallet."

_Oops._

"But it's no matter. I'm quite aware of who has it." He glared at Donna out of the corner of his eye, who looked ready to crumple and sob.

"Is it a brown wallet?" Odile blurted.

"..."

"Brown. Leather-y. Kind of small. Uh ... it's got a few pockets on the outside. A triangle seal?"

His eyes narrowed. "You're not saying..."

"I don't have it!" She waved her hands, laughing nervously. "But, um ... I know who does."

"Do you? Who?"

"...A girl. She's um ... tall. Blonde."

"What was she wearing? Where did you see her?"

"I saw her not too far from here, picking a wallet off the ground. Though I assumed it was hers."

He huffed, "Don't be so quick to make such an idiotic judgment next time!"

_Fuck you. _"Right, right."

"What was she wearing, this girl?"

"Um ... red sweater. And plain pants." She wasn't sure what would happen if a girl that matched her description was caught. So, for good measure, she added, "Though, just to be on the safe side, you'd probably have to bring her to me. You know. So I can confirm." She smiled cheerfully.

Melville's eyes looked over her, as if trying to analyze her motives. Odile tried to turn all of her charms on, smiling as bright as possible, hoping her hair wasn't frizzing and that her tiny stature would help her seem more innocent and child-like. Not at all like a teenage girl trying to manipulate a man into accidentally letting her keep his cash.

"You!" he barked at Donna. "What room is she staying in?"

"Ah, r-room 203, sir!"

"Very well. Any and all suspects that I catch will be brought to you for inspection. And if I catch that you're lying..."

_Yeah, yeah, whatever. _"I would never do something so morally disgusting." She batted her eyes.

He gave her one last skeptical look before stalking out the door. Donna exhaled the second he left, wiping sweat off her brow. "Oh, I can't thank you enough! He's had it in for me—er, for our entire town, really, since he's arrived. Barely pays us. Cuts off our tourist networks. It's been awful. But if you hadn't shown up, he'd have probably shut my inn down!"

"Oh. Yeah. No problem." _Just your friendly neighborhood detective ... kind of. _"So, what, the government doesn't care?"

"No one's had the guts to say anything, yet! He always puts on shows when they arrive for inspections, and he's got a talent for manipulating others! I'd be shocked if they thought he _was _guilty. Plus," she whispered, "people say he's got _connections._"

"Connections?"

"Yes! Anyone that double-crosses him will be killed! If not by him, then at someone else's hands! Here, we've all got family and friends ... we can't risk hurting anyone. It's a very challenging situation indeed!"

"Oh. Wow. Sorry."

"No, no, it's quite alright! We're hanging in. But are you okay, dear? You look very pale. And weak!"

"Yeah. I've traveled a long way."

"I bet! How does potatoes and lamb sound? I don't have much to serve, but—"

"It sounds perfect. Could you bring it up to my room?"

"Of course." She bowed slightly. "If you need anything, don't be afraid to give me a holler!"

"Sure." She waved quickly, practically trudging up the stairs. Despite her journey and fear, she didn't feel sleepy. More like ... curious? Worried? Perhaps those weren't the right words. She had never felt so confused and disoriented in her entire life. She always made it a point to know what to do and how to get out of situations. That was what she did. She planned things. She had crazy ideas. But she tackled them like puzzles, and managed to solve them in the end.

Sure, one had gotten her _killed. _But that was debatable, anyway. And right now? She had another puzzle on her hands.

_The game has begun._

* * *

**wow. so this came out a lot earlier than i'd expected, aha. i mean, i enjoyed writing the first chapter. and this one was fun, too. but it's a lot shorter. not sure if that's a bad thing or a good thing, but i hope you enjoy reading, regardless.**

**thank you to all who reviewed, favorited, and followed this story! it means a lot; it really does. uh, if you ever have any questions or concerns, just drop me a review or a PM, and i'll tackle them to the best of my abilities.**

**until next time!**


	3. What the Fuck

**chapter three**

_**'My name is Sherlock Holmes. It is my business to know what other people do not know.' ~ The Adventure of the Blue Carbuncle **__  
_

* * *

It wasn't until Odile got up did she notice what a mess she looked.

There was a tall, floor-length mirror hanging on her wall. Despite the paint peeling off the wooden frame, the mirror had been recently cleaned, and she was able to see herself in all of her emaciated glory.

She looked even thinner than usual, her elbows protruding horribly and and knees looking knobby. Her skin was dirty and dry, her hair came out in clumps when she ran a hand through it, and she was shaking uncontrollably, despite the room being quite warm. The shaking wasn't new; she always shook, for no apparently reason. But she was especially cold right now. She frowned, shaking her head. _No wonder everyone looked at me as if they wanted to toss me a twenty or something._

She glanced behind her quickly, and then brushed her hair away from her neck to observe the scars. They were pink and strange-looking, zig-zagging across her throat like a cruel choker. She gulped; they didn't look like they'd be leaving anytime soon. Did wounds that deep ever heal? She was condemned to a life of scarves. She ran a hand over the skin, and wasn't surprised to find it tender and slightly raised. _Still. Fast healing. It could have been worse._

And that brought to her mind the reminder of why she was up here in the first place: the puzzle.

Odile pushed away all thoughts of her sickly appearance and began looking through the drawers. She was pleased to find a few towels, some general storybooks, and paper. She found a pen next to the lamp. It was all she needed at the moment. She flopped onto the bed and began to scribble what she knew:

_**-new area – presumably far away from home due to location and lack of knowledge about hometown amongst residents**_

_**-been gone approximately two or three months, which means this must be January, 2013, at the moment**_

_**-japanese currency of 'yen' is used**_

_**-yet town speaks perfect, unaccented english**_

_**-also no one appears to be of japanese – or even asian – decent**_

_**-town = ruled by tyrant**_

_**-people = generally nice**_

_**-wait why am i wondering about these people?**_

_**-this is about me**_

_**-okay right**_

_**-what else**_

_**-um...**_

_**-fuck**_

_Damnit. _Odile gripped the pen tightly, gritting her teeth. _I can't make bricks without clay! _She needed more information. Her phone wasn't working, but ... maybe if someone here had a computer she could use...

_Aha!_ She snapped up from her seat on the bed and raced to the door. She whipped it open and was surprised to find Donna, who was so startled she nearly dropped the tray in her hand.

"Oh! Odile!" she said, trying to regain her balance.

Odile took a step back. "Sorry."

"No, no, I'm too clumsy!" she laughed, holding the tray out. When Odile stared at it confusedly, she smiled. "Your lamb and potatoes."

_Right. _"Oh, thanks." She took it and set it on the dresser half-heartedly. "Smells great. Ah, I was wondering, do you have wi-fi?"

"Wi-fi?" She looked confused. "What do you—oh! Oh, yes, I do believe we do!"

Her heart immediately lifted. "Really? Because I can't find it here..."

"Oh, just follow me!" She gestured to a door across the hall. "We have lots of wi-fi right in there. Feel free to stay as long as you need."

Odile could barely contain her excitement as she followed Donna. _Finally! _She'd be able to do a quick Google search and find her current location. And then it was simply a matter of finding a bus route, maybe using Google maps, and accounting for how to make up for her missed school.

Donna opened the door and hustled in, and Odile looked around eagerly. It was a small room, with shelves upon shelves of dusty novels and books. It made sense, of course. Wi-fi was often found in libraries, although this one looked incredibly shabby. Not that she was going to complain.

She dug through her pocket for her phone as Donna looked through one of the shelves. "We're not supposed to have too many books here," she said over her shoulder. "Melville considers them a waste of space and money. But, oh, I couldn't help but save some! As long as you don't snitch."

"My lips are sealed," Odile assured offhandedly, eyebrows furrowing when she _still _couldn't find an open network.

"Ah, I'm glad to hear that! Now, I know it's here, somewhere ... aha! Wi-fi!"

Odile looked up eagerly, wondering if there was some kind of binary coding involved in unlocking the system. She was surprised to find Donna shove a book in her hands. It was a thick novel, with a very cheesy picture of a man and a woman embracing each other on the cover. She looked up confused. "Um...?"

"I don't have all of his works, but I _do _have his most popular! _Love In The Most Unexpected of Places. _Oh, Oliver Wyfuy is such an incredible author!"

_...Is this some kind of sick joke? _She flipped through the book a few times, eyes scanning its contents for anything of remote importance. Nothing. Nothing but 359 pages of boring romance.

"I think you misunderstood me," she said.

"What do you mean?"

"Um. I didn't want a book, exactly. I wanted, like, _wi-fi. _W-I-dash-F-I. Internet connection."

"Inter ... net?"

"Yes, Internet! You know? The world wide web? Google? Facebook? Tumblr? Don't tell me you've never heard of them...!"

"...I ... I can't say it rings a bell, dear..."

Odile grit her teeth, biting back a long string of curses. She stuck an arm out to steady herself against a wall as a new wave of dizziness hit her, blinking back the vertigo. _Fuck. Fuck. _

"Are you alright, sweetie? Oh, you look even paler than before! Here, let me help." Odile didn't have the strength to argue as Donna wrapped an arm around her and helped her back to her room. She even tucked her into bed, setting the tray in her lap and getting her an extra blanket.

"This is the least I can do for now," she said nervously. "If you need anything at all, don't be afraid to call!"

Odile just nodded mutely, her stomach stirring with uneasiness and nerves.

The door closed behind her and she began to eat.

* * *

After she had calmed the roaring in her stomach and retrieved directions from Donna, Odile was on her way to the local library. She was eager to escape the old time-y vibes that the inn bragged, which even included what appeared to be an ancient telephone. It didn't have buttons; just that odd spinning technique she had only ever seen on TV.

Outside, however, she was able to observe more easily. Though the skies were still gray, with a light drizzle, she was surprised to find that no one was talking on their cell phones, and that the few cars that _were_ around were extremely old-looking. Hell, she didn't even recognize any modern brands, like Toyota, Hyundai, or Dodge. Just old, plain, black models, that reminded her of her old history textbook.

She scrawled these facts down in her book, furrowing her eyebrows in thought. On a separate page, she wrote possible explanations: far-away cosplay town (although this seems unlikely, given Melville's presence, and the lack of motive)? Away from the city and technologically backwards? _Time travel?_

_ Psht. Yeah, right. Don't let yourself lose your brain in this situation, Odile._

She ducked out of the rain and into the library, a small but comforting place. It smelled of paper, but not coffee, and there was no one there except for one lone librarian, who was putting books away. The librarian didn't even notice Odile's presence until she cleared her throat, rubbing a hand on the back of her neck nervously. She looked up, surprised. Her shock then settled into what appeared to be a happy look.

"Can I help you?" she asked.

"Uh, yeah. I was wondering if you had a map?" Odile asked.

"A map? Are you a traveler?"

"...Yup. Just of the surrounding cities. Nothing major."

She was quiet for a bit, looking to be in thought. "I believe I have one with some train routes. Will that be okay?"

"Yes!" Odile blurted excitedly. "That sounds perfect. Um. Thank you."

The woman nodded. "Wait here. I'll get it for you."

Odile nodded, and waited until the woman disappeared into the back room before turning her attention to the bookshelves. Despite there not being a single soul in the library, the books were all dusted and looked well-maintained, probably by the librarian herself. She glanced at the different titles on the spines, finding everything from _Essential Alchemical Equations _to _The History of Amestris_. She wasn't sure where Amestris was, or why alchemical equations were a thing that mattered in this day and age. A voice in the back of her pointed out that she wasn't quite sure _what _day or age she was currently in.

She told it to shut up.

She gingerly plucked _Essential Alchemical Equations _from the shelf, opening it up to reveal its contents. The table of contents even had a special chapter dedicated to _the Philosopher's Stone! _Odile's lips twisted up in a little smirk. _Like Harry Potter? God, what kind of freaky town _is _this? _She flipped to page 324, reading the first passage, not quite sure what to expect.

_The Philosopher's Stone, also labeled the Grand Elixir by some, is one of the world's most fascinating and enigmatic objects. Despite alchemists' centuries of research trying to understand this mysterious stone, information about its ingredients and origins still remain vastly unknown. However, there claims to be no end to its capabilities. It is said to be able to do everything: destroying worlds, bringing the dead back to life, and providing an end to almost any problem mankind may face, be it medical, financial, emotional, or physical. This has made it sought after by men and women, alike, throughout the years—_

"Is this what you're looking for?"

Odile snapped the book shut, hands shaking. She felt like she had glanced into something forbidden, even though she was sure the book was nothing but a parody. Grand Elixir? Able to grant any wish or fix any problem? How pathetic. It was obviously just an illusion to provide comfort and a distraction to those suffering from horrible problems. Like God. Or pop tarts.

She nodded. "Yeah, this will do. Thank you."

"Are you an alchemist?"

Odile froze, looking at the woman questionably. "What?"

"An alchemist. You're in the alchemy section. We don't boast a lot of material, but we _do _have a few rare finds, if you're interes—"

Odile leaned forward, dropping her voice down to a whisper. "Alright, I'm asking this because I am legitimately sick of this stupid make-believe thing, but why are you guys doing this?"

Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "I don't know what you—"

"Look, I _know _you're just making all of this up! The ancient alchemy crap, all the fake towns, the old technology, if you can even _call _it technology—" She broke off, letting out something near to a hysteric giggle. All of the pieces were misshapen, and God, it was driving her absolutely mad.

The woman backed away, as if Odile had some kind of contagious disease. "I-I really don't know ... please, ma'am, try to calm down..."

"It's 2012!" Odile almost shrieked. "Where are all of the Toyotas?!" A stupid thing to say. But Odile, finally, had begun to panic. Panic was a human emotion, and it was the exact opposite of logical, precise problem-solving. Thus, her brain was not speaking at the moment. At least, it wasn't saying what she wanted it to say. _Where are all of the Toyotas _translated to _Why the hell does nothing make sense?! What's happening to me?!_

"Ma'am," the woman said carefully, her words holding a sort of subtle calming factor. "Ma'am, the year is 1914."

Odile froze.

All of her anger and confusion swept down the drain, leaving her completely numb for a few seconds. She ran over the words, observed them, took notes, put them in her mouth and spit them back out when they tasted too sour for her taste. The numbness was replaced with the uncontrollable urge to laugh. Laugh. Laugh, laugh, laugh.

The cars were old, the people looked like they had come out of _history _textbooks—

_No._

No one knew what wi-fi was, they treated ancient practices like alchemy as if they were common, modern-day sciences—

_It can't be._

But that was impossible because time travel wasn't a theory that could possibly exist could it and besides she was dead so shouldn't she be in heaven or hell man all the books in the world couldn't prepare her for this and this was all too crazy to be a lie she wasn't getting anywhere with that plan but but but maybe this was some weird spiritual journey that God had sent her on to repent for her sins or whatever but God wasn't real either so that begs the question—

_Am I even real?_

"Ma'am? Are you alright?"

Odile snapped alert, lips spreading into a too-bright grin. "Perfectthankyou—!"

And she left the library, ran over to the nearest garbage can, and threw up.

* * *

The lamb and potatoes were considerably less delightful coming back up her throat than they had been going down. Odd. She hadn't thrown up since she was seven, and a bad plate of sushi had given her food poisoning. Perhaps it had occurred to amplify just how dire the current situation was.

_Thanks, Stomach. You let me down, too. _

Okay. Okay. Her brain was freaking out. Her usually calm and composed mind was now scrambling, searching through the scattering of information that had just laid itself out, utterly unorganized and illogical. She had to think this through. Tackle the problem in tinier pieces, one at a time, and then put them together in the end.

She held a hand out, clutching the wall to support herself. She was mildly concerned about whether or not the librarian would call the police and have her whisked away to a mental institution, but she soon realized that Melville needed her around, and would not allow it in the near future. So she smoothed her hair down, took a deep breath, and walked back in.

The woman was staring, her eyes wide, not having moved from her previous position. She looked extremely wary of Odile. "May I help you?"

"Yeah, sorry," she muttered. "Um. I'll just be ... doing some research." She gestured to one of the empty tables.

The librarian nodded, glancing at the telephone on her desk before saying, "Let me know if you need anything."

"Sure."

And that was that.

Odile opened her notebook, pulled out a pen, and began to write:

**_things i know:_**

**_-i do not have any certain theories for what has occurred to me_**

**_-however, i am aware that my throat was slit_**

**_-the wound has mostly healed, and has left scarring_**

**_-the year is 1914, and not 2012_**

**_-so i've essentially ... time traveled_**

**_-which is a ridiculous theory_**

**_-but i suppose_**

**_-it's still plausible_**

**_-it's not 100% impossible and, given the current evidence, must be the truth_**

**_-the truth can be mad_**

**_-so_**

**_-time traveling_**

**_things i need to find out:_**

**_-how this happened_**

**_-who did this to me_**

**_-what happened to Mr. Carlyle_**

**_-why did this happen_**

**_-how do i get back_**

**_ways to go about finding this:_**

**_-..._**

Odile folded her hands under her chin, thinking hard. Something just felt _off. _Usually, when she reached a hypothesis or had a theory, it felt like something had clicked inside of her. Now? She just felt confused. Like something was missing. _Time travel ... if supernatural elements such as alchemy can exist in this time, somehow, then perhaps they could be responsible? But I came from 2012 to here. Which means ... someone must have perfected the theory in my modern time. However, why would they get me to come here? Wait. No. No, I shouldn't think about the past. Focus on the future. How do I get back?_

She pulled a few books from the alchemy section, pouring over their contents. She was surprised to find that alchemy was so common and scientific, but also so _logical. _It wasn't about fools trying to make gold from lead. It was about change. Like chemistry, which was one of her favorite subjects. Using materials and transforming them into something else of equal value. It also involved strange arrays and designs that looked pretty and complicated, though she wasn't sure what kind of purpose, exactly, they served in the process.

According to the alchemic laws, changes occurred through a process called _transmutation. _Which meant that something had to have been given up. Transmutation was impossible to perform on humans, however, and so she wasn't sure how she had been transmuted into a different time. Perhaps her theory wasn't credible, after all.

_Wait a second._

Odile turned back to the first book she had gotten, and flipped to the page on the Philosopher's Stone. It could twist the alchemical laws! And the book explicitly stated that it could allow alchemists to perform transmutations on _human beings. _

_...So there was a Philosopher's Stone hidden away somewhere in Gellbea? Or ... eh, it doesn't matter. I have to get my hands on one of those stones!_

A voice in her head piped up, _Woah, woah, aren't you getting out of hand?_

_What do you mean?_

_Time travel? Alchemy? Harry Potter references? Do you have any idea how crazy you sound?_

_Hey, time travel is a legitimate theory, even with modern science._

_Yes, but let's be honest. It's near impossible._

_Do you know what else is near impossible? Waking up in a place I've never heard of, after having my throat slit, being completely alone, having no memory of the past few months, in 1914._

_..._

_Besides, I don't have any other theories. This is my first lead. And I have to see where it goes._

_And if it ends up being a dead end?_

_Boo hoo. I move on. Besides ... it's kind of exciting, isn't it?_

_...You're hopeless. Your weird need for 'fun' will kill you one day. Oh, wait—_

_Shut up._

And so Odile reached an odd sort of 'conclusion' with the puzzle in her head. Well, perhaps 'conclusion' wasn't the right word. After all, a puzzle was only concluded once it was finished. No, it was more of a temporary truce. Because no matter how her logic was screaming at her – telling her she was a fool and a moron and, really, this was all one big understanding – she knew she had to go with something. Denying herself the proof had simply lead to, well, more proof being shoved into her face. No. She had to take a chance.

_I'll play your game._

_I'll deal my cards._

_And I guess we'll see who wins. _

"Um, excuse me, ma'am?"

Odile glanced up into the glowing red eyes of a metal man.

No.

A robot.

...

Perhaps this was all the proof she needed that there _was _a higher power somewhere in the universe, looking down on everything that was occurring, like a chessmaster toying with his pieces. And this was definitely all the proof she needed that she was his personal punching bag. She couldn't think of any other excuse that could explain why she had been murdered, woken up in 1914, tossed into an entirely crazy situation, _finally _felt like she was heading somewhere, and then handed a completely futuristic creature to top it all off: the cherry on her sundae of failure.

Yeah.

She was in trouble.

* * *

**woaah, okay, this is super late! but i hope it's a decent length, and that you guys like it.**

**stfu odile there is a 'robot' right in front of yo t. **

**enjoy! **


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